


Fifty Ten Twenty

by AnOakTree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Pain, Past Relationship(s), Swimming AU, coach!Damen, swimmer!Laurent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOakTree/pseuds/AnOakTree
Summary: He wasn't meant to be a swimmer. He wasn't meant to take it so far, and when it all fell apart, he couldn't stop.Not even when other parts of his life were on the verge of collapse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some trigger warnings in the end notes.

_‘Just one more lap,’_ he told himself.

Turning in the water he pushing against the wall, his body sliced through the water.

_‘Just one more lap.’_

His chest hurt like he had swallowed the water he was surrounded in. His muscles burned and he could feel the way that his shoulders ground against his bone, but still he continued.

 _‘Just on more lap,’_ he repeated to himself as he turned again, gasping for breath.

He didn’t know how long he had been telling himself just one more lap, but he wasnt’ stopping. Not until he couldn’t move anymore. He would move through the water, envelope himself in the silence until it wasn’t possible for him to move any more. Until that point it was just one more lap.

Turning again, he focused on the ceiling, counting the beams above him with his breaths. It was a fifty metre pool, there were over head lights at approximately ever five metres. One breath at a light, one breath in-between. Ten lights, twenty breaths. Back stroke was his strength, it was his stroke.

 _‘One more lap,’_ he said to himself again.

He said it to himself over and over, until the lights above him seemed out of focus. Even through the protection of his goggles. He kept going, moving at a steady rate. He turned again in the pool, completely submerged in the silence.

Pushing up, he broke the surface and taking a breath seemed harder. His arms were harder to move, he could feel his shoulders quiver. Still, he told himself, _‘just one more lap.’_.

He made the fifty meters, his muscles screaming in agony, but he still told himself just one more lap. But as he turned, instead of the lights above him, he saw a person. An unfortunately familiar figure. It broke his focus and instead of turning properly, he fumbled and had to pull himself close to the wall.

Having stopped his muscles trembled, his arms shuddered attempting to hold him up. Still beneath the surface of the matter, his legs started to twitch and ache.

Knowing it was over, he pulled the goggles from his face, taking the swim cap with it.

‘What do you want?” Laurent said, trying his best not to seem out of breath.

And he was, his lungs ached, he felt like he was choking. He knew that when he exited the pool his legs wouldn't be stable, that his arms wouldn’t be able to catch him if he fell.

“You need to stop.”

“I’ll stop when I want to,” Laurent said, making to put his cap and goggles back into place.

His fingers were numb, making the task near impossible.

“No, this needs to stop. Now.”

“I’m training,” Laurent said, trying to fix the cap back in place. His hands wouldn’t work, his fingers trembling and unable to stretch the cap back over his head.

“If you don’t get out of the pool this second I will drag you out.”

“I would like to see you try,” Laurent spat, the water still moving, lapping against his body.

As definite as he was, Laurent knew his limits. He wouldn’t be able to start again now that he had stopped. He ducked his head under the water, swimming beneath the surface back to the ladder, catching one more moment of silence.

Usually he would just push himself up and out of the water. But he didn’t trust himself right now, he didn't know if his arms had the strength left for such a feat. His thoughts were confirmed when he reached the ladder and he had a hard enough time pulling himself out of the water.

Once out of the water he tried to control his body, but everything shuddered and he felt like he was walking on pins and needles. His feet were numb, the muscles in his calves and thighs were twitching. His stomach rolled and threatened to empty. He had taken it too far again.

Ignoring the presence behind him, he grabbed his towel and made his way towards the change rooms. As he did he took note of his surroundings for the first time. The world outside the windows of the swim centre was pitch black. The centre was empty besides himself and he knew that it had to be past closing times.

Too far, he’d pushed himself too far.

Reaching the privacy of the change rooms, Laurent let himself feel. He stumbled towards his locker, each step a stabbing pain that ran through his legs and straight up his spine. His head was throbbing and his stomach was letting it self know. When had he last eaten? What was even the time?

He found out after retrieving his bag, his hand shaking as he searched through the pockets to locate his phone. The time read that it was ten past ten at night. He had been swimming for hours, and in that time he had not receive a single message. He wasn’t surprised, there was no one to message him, not anymore.

Putting the phone back, he grabbed his clothes and toiletries and made his way towards the shower. Despite the pool being heated, he found himself cold, shivering, his teeth chattering no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

Too far.

In the shower, he turned the water on as hot as he dared, the water stinging his already freezing skin. When the feeling returned to his fingers, he pulled the full body wet suit from his body and let it flop to the ground. Instead of feeling freed from the confines of the skin tight clothing, he felt ashamed.

He hated being exposed and naked, even with a locked door behind him. It was the reason why he wore the full body swimwear instead of the speedos some of the other swimmers wore. He said it improved his performance, but in actuality, he couldn’t stand to be that exposed in front of others. The clothing was skin tight, leaving little to the imagination, but he needed it.

He needed to swim. He needed the silence of diving into cool water. The world washed away in clearest blues with nothing but the sound of his own stilted breaths surrounding him. He needed the mechanical way his body worked, pulling him through the water. If to get that feeling he had to wear a full body swim suit then he would wear it.

Once the suit was off, he washed the chlorine from his body quickly. The hot water helping calm his muscles and stave off the shivers. The water was warm, but the world outside was cold, a cool breeze somehow reaching him even while he languished in the pressing water.

Wanting to get it over with, he turned off the water and dried himself with his already damp towel. As quickly as he could, the shakes returning, he dressed in a pair of black jeans, and a simple white t-shirt. He then slipped into a warm and soft deep blue hoodie. His hair was still wet though and the cold found him anyway.

Shoving his wet belongings into a plastic bag, he made his way back to his locker where he slipped on his shoes. He this shoved the still dripping plastic bag into his backpack and headed out. His body still ached, and the sick feeling remained, but he was able to walk normally.

When he exited the change rooms, the swim centre was dark, the lights shut off for the evening with only a few necessary lights remaining. A single employee was using a long handled squeegee to clean the tiled floor. Besides the two of them, there was only one of the person in the building.

Laurent didn’t know how to describe his relationship with Damen. From the moment they met Laurent could see the obvious signs of attraction coming from Damen. He was use to it, he knew people found him attractive. Normally it was a clear sign to avoid a person, but Damen was un-avoidable.

Damen owned the swim centre and for a small amount of time was his coach. Damen wasn’t a swimmer, not really, but a triathlete. He owned the centre, and the gym attached. It was a successful independent business and easily the best in the area.

Damen had been his coach for six months. Six months before he screwed up his one big chance of swimming professionally. He had dropped Damen as a coach, and given up on swimming professionally all together. But that didn’t stop him from swimming. He didn’t swim for a profession anyway, he swam because he needed to.

Even after he stopped being his coach, Damen had hung around. He still gave Laurent pointers, still made sure he was eating well and getting enough sleep. Laurent lied, and told him what he wanted to hear. Laurent knew that at one time, there could have been something between them. He could feel it, it was building, and then he screwed up, like he always did, and pulled away.

He wanted to leave with out another word, but Damen had other plans.

“The busses have stopped running.” Damen said, falling into step next to him.

“Then I’ll walk.”

“I’ll give you a lift, where ever you want.”

He wanted to argue, just for the sake of it, but there was no point in arguing with Damen. He had that affect on him.

“Where ever I want then.”

They made their way out into the parking lot, the cold air like a slap in the face against Laurent’s still damp skin. He pulled the hood up to cover his wet hair and slipped his hands into his pockets.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him again of how long it had been since he had eaten. He knew Damen had heard, but they both ignored it.

After getting into the car, they drove in silence. Laurent had nothing to say and for once neither did Damen. The only time he did speak was to give Damen brief directions, a left here, a right in two hundred metres, his voice monotone, sounding just like a satnav.

At one point, Damen opened the glove box, reaching in and pulling out a protein bar. Of course, Damen was the type to carry protein bars in his car. With out taking his eyes off the road he threw it into Laurent’s lap. Laurent pocketed it without a word, leaning his head back against the window and thinking of anything else other than how exhausted he felt.

He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t tired. Everyday felt like it was spent dragging an extra one hundred kilograms behind him. He felt the chain of the weight around his neck from the moment he got out bed each morning.

The weight followed him on to the bus in the mornings, settling at his feet, dragging his head down. He felt it with every step he took through out his day, from university, to the centre, to home again. The only time he didn’t feel the weight was when he dived into the water. The silence around him, the chain broken and the weight sinking to the bottom.

The moment he stopped, the chain slithered up form the depths. It latched around his neck and it started again. The weight, the pain, at times he was sure that it would choke him. Some days he hoped that it would.

“Right here,” Laurent said, sitting up from his slumped position.

“Here?” Damen asked, but pulled over anyway.

“You said where ever I want.”

“Yes but-“

“Where ever I want.”

Laurent slipped out of his seat belt and grabbed his bag making to exit. Before he could Damen clapped a hand on his shoulder, causing him to freeze. He shrugged his hand off and turned to face him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, genuine concern on his face.

“Peachy,” Laurent said, even forcing a smile.

Before Damen could say more, he exited the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

The staff had long since learned not to bother stopping him. Occasionally there was a new staff member that tried, but the regular crew stopped them. Laurent tried to ignore the look of pity on their faces when they did. He could feel it though, even without the looks.

He was left undisturbed that night, the most he got was a few nods from behind the nurses station. He gave a quick nod in response but no words were exchanged. It was something else the staff had learned over time. Laurent didn’t talk, but they understood each other enough that he wouldn’t have to even if he did.

He knew they route off by heart, he could make this journey blindfolded. He could do it in his sleep. The world could be burning around him, and he would still be able to make this exact journey over and over again with nothing stopping him. After all, it had been seven years.

The room was dark like the rest of the hospital, the only light coming from the outside street lamps that managed to shine though even four floors up. Even with the dim light, he could make out every detail of the figure on the bed.

He had been watching that face for years. Watching it change and wither, becoming something unfamiliar and then too familiar.

“Hello, Auguste,” he whispered.

His chair was where it always was next to the bed. The staff never moved it, it was always by the bed side. Before sitting, Laurent let his eyes rake over the prone figure, looking for new changes.

Even time he looked at his brother he found the vibrant figure in his memories replaced just a little more. What had once been a tall and muscled figure was now worn, shrivelled. The muscles having melted away over the years. He was barely a skeleton despite the work of the hospital.

He was feed regularly and the staff were sure to exercise his limp limbs. His chest moved up and down with the help of machines. It wasn’t natural, almost jerky, but still his chest moved, he was still alive.

Like every time he visited, Laurent watched his eyes, looking for movement under the closed lids. There wasn’t any, but still he looked.

At one time, when he was much younger, still a teen, he would sit and hold Auguste’s hand. He couldn't bring himself to do that any longer. The hand he held as a child, looking up with adoring eyes, it wasn’t the same hand. It was limp and thinned, thick veins prominent under stretched skin. He didn’t hold his hand anymore, his memories were tainted enough.

The one part of Auguste he could still touch was his hair. It was the only part of him that hadn’t changed. It was still soft to the touch, long to his shoulders and the same vibrant shade of blonde as Laurent’s own, if not a touch darker.

So he took a moment to run his hand through his brothers hair, careful not to touch the sunken skin of his face. When he was done he sat down in the chair facing his brother’s bed.

Pulling the protein bar from his pocket, he pulled small pieces from it and ate them slowly.

As he did, he told Auguste about his day, like he had almost every day for the past seven years.

“Just one more month,” he whispered.

As much as he wished, there was no reply.

***

He at least managed to consul himself in the fact that he hadn’t come last. Fourth, the word sounded dirty, he may as well have come last. The wound was torn open even deeper when the person to win the race had not even come within seconds of Laurent’s personal best.

He should have won the race, he should have left them all behind. He should have been a length ahead, he was capable of it. Yet he came in fourth, and when he dragged himself out of the pool he felt a wave of nausea crash into him.

At first he didn’t know if it was an act of self destruction or if the other swimmers had been better. One look at Damen had answered the question for him. He had done this to himself. While the others cheered, crying with excitement. Laurent stalked off to the change rooms and sat under a stream of water so hot it turned his skin red.

The back stroke was his stroke, he had mastered it spending hours training. He should have won, he should have left them all behind. He should have been the one cheering and becoming an Olympian. But that wasn’t him.

Instead he was sitting under a stream of water, trying not to vomit.

***

Laurent was back in the water the next morning. He shouldn’t have been, he knew he shouldn’t have been. Back in the days of his real training, he wouldn’t have been back in the water as exhausted as he was. It was bad for his body, it wouldn’t be good for his overall out put.

Those days were behind him. Because swimming wasn’t about that. Swimming was about the silence, it was about forgetting. He never meant for it to go so far. It didn’t matter how much sleep he hadn’t gotten.

Still habits remained, and he couldn’t bring himself to skip his morning swim. Dive in, turn, rise, fifty metres, ten lights, twenty breaths. Turn, rise, fifty mitres, ten lights, twenty breaths. The silence, the water pressed to his ears, the feeling of floating. Those fleeting seconds of pure and utter calm as he turned in the water, fully submerged.

He would never be a professional, not anymore, but he couldn’t give it up, not ever.

Damen was there, because of course he was. Damen was everywhere it seemed. Again, he was glaring down at him, arms crossed, once again distracting Laurent from his turn.

“What?” Laurent asked, spitting water.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Laurent asked. He wanted to keep going, but like the previous night, once he stopped he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

“What you’re doing, if you keep doing it, it’s either going to kill you or seriously injure you. You’re a good swimmer Laurent, but no ones body is capable of what you’re doing.”

“Humankind is constantly breaking boundaries.”

“Then why weren’t you at Rio?”

Damen knew he shouldn’t have said it, Laurent could tell by the way his shoulders slumped, the scowl softening. It was true, and that’s what hurt the most. He should have been there, he should have brought back the gold. He could have done it with his times, but he didn’t. He ruined himself.

He didn’t dignify Damen’s question with a response. Instead he ducked his head under the water, and swam to the ladder. He probably could have pulled himself up out of the pool, but he needed the distance from Damen, and most of all, he needed the silence.

Pulling himself out of the pool, he could feel Damen’s gaze on him. He could feel it all the way to the change rooms. Even with the walls between them and locked in a shower stall, he still felt like Damen’s gaze could reach him.

He finished up as soon as he could, quickly changing into a similar outfit to what he had worn last night. The only difference being he added a black scarf. He was still cold though, it wasn’t even winter, barely late autumn, yet still he shivered.

He was about to leave the centre when Damen stopped him.

“When was the last time you ate something?”

_‘The protein bar you gave me last night.’_

“Last night.”

“Let me rephrase, when was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

He paused for a second, wondering when exactly he had eaten a proper meal last, “Last night,” he said again, but it was too late, Damen had noticed the pause.

“It’s your birthday soon, let me buy you breakfast.” Damen said, a smile forcing it’s way onto his face. It could have fooled few, Damen couldn’t lie to save his life, nor could he force his emotions. With Damen, what you saw was what you got.

Laurent knew this for the same reason Damen knew it was his birthday soon, because once upon a time, they could have been something.

He wanted to refuse, he wanted to push passed Damen and get on with his day. But his stomach betrayed him, growling loudly. The hunger hit him full force, making him feel sick. He didn’t want to eat, he had no craving for food. For once he admitted to himself, that if he didn’t eat soon, he was going to have problems.

So he let Damen lead the way, taking them to a small cafe not far from the centre. He ordered a black coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs no toast, just the eggs. He didn’t pretend he didn’t see Damen’s look, he raised his eyebrows in response, daring him to say something.

For once Damen kept his mouth shut and ordered his own meal of bacon and eggs on toast, the eggs poached of course. Damen insisted on paying, calling it an early birthday present. Laurent let him, figuring if Damen wanted to waste his money of some eggs then so be it.

“Are you planning on doing anything on you’re birthday?” Damen asked after they had found themselves a seat.

Laurent had other things to worry about coming up to his twenty-first year then celebrating.

“Nothing much,” Laurent said, leaning back to let the waitress place his coffee on the table. “A quiet night in.”

“Are you going to spend it alone?”

‘ _No,_ ’ Laurent thought, ‘ _I’ll be with my brother._ '

Laurent shrugged off the question as indifference and focused on his coffee. He looked Damen straight in the eye as he piled three heaped sugars into it before stirring. Damen smiled at him, genuinely, before taking a sip from his glass of water.

When the meals arrived Laurent regretted his decision. The pile of eggs placed before him rose no iota of hunger within him. The yellow glistening pile did nothing more than to make his already aching stomach clench and turn. But Damen was watching, so he dug his fork into the mass and raised it to his mouth.

The eggs rested heavy on his tongue, tasting like rot and death. He didn’t bother to chew, simply forcing the runny mess down his throat. He wanted nothing more of the meal, but Damen was watching, his own meal sitting untouched before him.

He managed another three bites before pushing the meal away, the cutlery clattering to the plate. Flecks of egg splashed across the table, and Laurent had to force down the sick rising in his throat.

“Laurent,” Damen moaned, reaching across the table to hold Laurent’s hand in his own.

The hold was tight, unlike the other times Damen had held his hand. Each time had been with surprising softness, often followed with a gentle caress. Damen held his hand like it was something precious, fragile. The tight hold wasn’t what he wanted from Damen. It reeked of panic and desperation.

“Let go,” Laurent said steadily, his eyes hard, staring straight into Damen’s yet seeing nothing.

And Damen did, his fingers trailing softly along his palm as he went.

Laurent pushed away from the table and strode off. He managed to make it three streets away before leaning over and throwing up his meagre breakfast.

***

He wasn’t meant be a swimmer. It had fallen into his lap when he started high school. The year he started high school was the year everything changed for him. His home life changed, he lost his family and on top if it all, he was thrown into high school, a startling difference from primary school.

He was lost, confused… hurt. It all went away the moment he dived into the pool as part of his regular physical education class. He attached himself to the class with such vigour that his teachers saw promise that wasn’t there. He wasn’t a good swimmer, he was just putting his whole body and heart into the practice.

He joined the swim club which had the added bonus of morning and afternoon practise sessions, an excuse not to go home. He threw himself into it so completely that over the course of a few months he changed completely. Whilst once he was a skinny misshapen youth, he was building muscles across his shoulder and his thighs started to bulge.

So focused on the swimming, he didn’t notice where it was taking him. His training increased, he was put on special diets, He gained and lost coaches. High school ended and after it, suddenly, his life was about nothing more than swimming. His marks were perfect, he could have applied for anything, but all any one ever talked about was his swimming and of course, they talked about Rio.

He went with it, he joined different swim squads, he was directed to and fro. Life revolved around swimming and nothing else. And then it started to lose it’s appeal. It was no longer an escape, it couldn’t be with the way people were telling him what to do, what he should be.

And then he met Damen.

***

He tried to avoid going to the centre that afternoon, but he couldn’t. The routine was too strong, the need to swim overwhelming until his hands started to twitch. He needed to swim, it was to ingrained.

He could have found another centre, one without Damen, one that wouldn’t question his long training sessions. Yet it was habit, and the centre was easily the best one his side of town. It had nothing to do with Damen being there. He would not run from Damen. Damen would face him and that would be all.

And face him Damen did, the second he scanned in.

“No.”

“You can’t stop me,” Laurent said making to walk around him.

“I can try,” Damen said, grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the pool.

Damen dragged him to his office, a shoebox of a thing that seemed to trap the smell of chlorine. Laurent had been there many times before, and he tried his best not to let his memories take over. The memories came anyway, and he figured if he had to suffer, then Damen would too.

“Want to relive old memories?” Laurent asked, sitting in the only spare seat in the office.

For it was in the office that they had kissed for the first time. Softly, timidly at first, and then heating up, turning to more. More than the feel of Damen’s lips, he remembered Damen’s hands. The way his hand had brushed down his cheek as they kiss. His fingers were gentle as they feathered over the shell of his ear, down to his neck and then brushing the short hairs at the back of his neck.

His hair was longer now, he was no longer required to have it short for training. It almost reached his shoulders and as much as he wanted to antagonise Damen, he couldn’t help but image what it would be like to feel Damen’s hands run through his longer hair.

“You’ve lost weight,” Damen said, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It’s usually a good thing.”

“You’ve lost it in muscle, you’re thinning down, but you’re training like it’s still there. You’re not burning energy, you’re burning muscle and very soon, you’re going to injure yourself beyond repair.”

“You are not my coach anymore Damianos,” Laurent said, straightening in his chair.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to self destruct. At first I thought maybe it was a result of messing up the qualifiers but you seemed fine until about a month ago.”

Of course Damen had brought up the qualifiers, it had been Damen’s loss as much as it had been his own.

“Messing up is such a polite way to put it. I prefer to call it a monumental fuck up.”

“What happened that day Laurent? What’s happening now?”

Laurent stood, pushing his chair in as he did, “I don’t see why you think you are entitled to such answers. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some training to do.”

He left the office and changed into his full body swim suit. It was one of many he had that was given to him by sponsors. Given to him back when he was suppose to be something.

***

It was dark once he reached the hospital again. He was finding it hard to walk in a straight line, the constant buzz of fluorescent lights were not helping. His eyes hurt with the burn of chlorine despite the goggles he wore and he was over conscious of the throb of his pulse. He could feel each pump of his heart shock through his chest and spread through his body. HIs stomach rumbled and churned with hunger, but the feeling of eggs sliding up his throat and splattering to the ground halted any thoughts of eating.

By the time he made it to Auguste’s room he felt dizzy and out of breath. He knew he had over done it again, he didn’t need Damen to tell him that. He knew that he should have been at home, in bed, but he needed to see Auguste. He knew he must have looked worse than usual when the nurses looks were even more piteous than usual.

He nodded at them like he always did, pretending he felt fine. Entering Auguste’s room he paused at the door as he always did. He looked over his brother, checking for more changes. Seeing if he was more sunken than before, if his skin was paler. Checking his eyes for a flicker of movement, his hands for the slightest twitch. There were no changes, and there was no movement other than the forced rise and fall of his chest.

He ached down to his very bones, his joints scraping and his muscles screaming as he made his way over to his usual chair. Sitting down was a relief, and he let out an unconscious sigh. Leaning his head back against the head rest he felt like he could fall asleep in seconds.

Before he could, he forced his eyes open and focused on Auguste. His hand was shaking as he reached out to stroke at Auguste’s hair, careful as always not to let their skin connect. He felt his eyes sting with tears that wouldn’t fall. His throat was thick to the point he thought he would choke, but he swollen it down, refusing to let the sob out.

“Auguste,” he breathed. “I’m falling apart.”

It wasn’t the first time he imagined it. That Auguste would wake up, that he would take his hand. The doctor would arrive and pull the tube from his throat, he would breath on his own, and then he would smile. His hand would be weak, but he would clasp onto Laurent’s hand with all the strength he had.

It never happened, Auguste didn’t move, and the dark part of Laurent’s mind would whisper to him. _Brain dead_ , it would say. _It’s just a body_ , it continued. _He’s not waking up. He died years ago_.

“One more month,” he whispered instead.

In a month he would be twenty-one and receive his inheritance. He would be financially capable of paying for Auguste’s medicals costs. In a month he wouldn’t have to worry about his Uncle being in control of Auguste’s life. He wouldn’t have to deal with the threats anymore.

He hadn’t heard from his Uncle for over a month, and the silence was leaving him on edge. The smallest, most hopeful part of his mind was hoping that his Uncle had just given up. The rest of his mind knew that his Uncle was doing it on purpose, knowing the anxiety he would be causing.

“One more month,” he whispered again, his head falling back an his eyes fluttered.

He shocked awake when someone else entered the room. It wasn’t common for the staff to enter the room while he was there, but it still happened. Picking himself up from his slumped position, he rubbed his eyes and waited for the staff to check whatever they needed.

He was surprised when the nurse stopped next to him with a tray in her hands. Looking up at her with a question he would never voice, she smiled a strained smile at him before placing the tray in his lap. There was a small bowl of what looked like apple sauce and another bowl of thin soup. In a small plastic mug was a cup of herbal tea.

She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from it immediately. The look on her face got worse, he hated it, he wanted to throw the tray in her face and scream ‘ _Don’t pity me!_ '.

Instead he nodded like he always did. She nodded back and left the room.

Looking down at the food, his stomach didn’t know whether to react with hunger or revulsion. He didn’t fail to notice that it was fairly gentle food, exactly the kind of thing he needed. He hadn’t thought he was that obvious, but nursing staff were meant to notice these things.

He managed to eat a few spoonfuls of the soup and a tentative mouthful of the apple sauce before he gave up. It would be enough for now. He took the tea and placed the tray onto the floor next to him.

He sipped at the herbal tea and focused on the rise and fall of Auguste’s chest. He was alive, for now he was alive, and he was going to keep it that way.

***

He couldn’t get out of bed, not at first. His eyes lids felt like they had weights on them forcing them down and pressing down into the very cavities of his mind. His arms refused to push him up and his legs felt disconnected from the rest of him. He knew he was awake, but he still felt asleep.

It took all of his energy to roll himself over, and then again until he rolled over the edge and thumped to the floor. He dropped barely two feet but he felt the shock roll through his body so harshly it took the air from his lungs. It hurt, but it shocked his body into motion. He was able to stand, his legs shaking with every movement.

In time he managed to make his way to the shower where he blasted his aching body with scolding water. It helped to wake him more, but he still felt the desire to slide to the floor and let the water wash over his heavy body. Despite the heat of the shower, he still felt cold.

Stepping out of the shower he knew there was no way he would be able to go swimming. He’d finally over done it, if he attempted to get into the water right now he would sink right to the bottom and refuse to rise. Still after dressing, he made his way to the centre slowly.

He didn’t intend to swim, but he wanted to smell the water. He needed that much at least.

When he scanned in, Damen was in his face straight away.

“I mean it this time, if you get in that water I will drag your arse out and strap you to a chair.”

“I didn’t know you were so kinky,” was Laurent’s response. “Then again, I guess we never really got that far.”

He walked away and Damen followed after him, until he reached the closest bench and slumped down onto it. Damen sat down next to him, a frown marring his normally happy face. ‘ _I did that to him_ ’, Laurent thought.

“I’m not going in, I can’t.”

“Laurent, I think you should see a doctor.”

“I know what’s wrong with me,” he scoffed, making himself sit up straight even as his body protested. “I’ll feel better in a little while.”

‘ _Or worse_ ,” said his poisonous mind.

“That’s not the kind of doctor I meant.” Damen said, his hand resting on the bench, millimetres from Laurent’s own.

It took him a moment to realise what Damen was talking about, but when he did he let out the smallest of laughs. “Therapists? Psychiatrists? They’ve never done much for me in the past.”

“I’m worried about you. I still care for you.” Damen said, his hand moving slightly so that the very tips of his fingers brushed Laurent’s pinky finger. “We had something once.”

“Had,” Laurent said, even as his own hand moved to rest on top of Damen’s.

He linked their hands briefly and then let go to roll his hand so that their palms pressed together. Damen clutched at his hand lightly, his large hands stretching between Laurent’s knuckles softly.

Holding Damen’s hand he could feel the light pulse of of blood beneath the skin, the way his hand moved ever so slightly even though neither of them acknowledged the touch. He was so alive, and warm. And it hurt, because the last time he had held Auguste’s hand it was cold and motionless.

There was a time when he would have traded Damen’s life for Auguste to wake up. Now he knew how cruel that was, and how much Damen just didn’t deserve that. Damen who held his hand so tenderly, and cared about him even now.

Damen’s hand was warm, and Laurent had to wonder what his own hand felt like to Damen. Cold, he knew that much. He was so cold and he wanted to lean on Damen, rest his head on his shoulder and drain his warmth.

“I have to get to class,” he said, pulling their hands apart and standing with the slightest bit of strain.

“Do you still have my number?” Damen asked, standing after him.

“No,” Laurent lied, walking away.

“Text me if you need anything.” said Damen anyway.

***

Laurent fell asleep during his lecture, the person next to him having to nudge him awake once it was over. Usually he would have reacted worse, but he was too tired to be bothered. He stumbled out of the lecture hall and forced his way to a local cafe. He didn’t want to eat, but he knew he wouldn’t last much longer if he didn’t.

He ordered the only soup on the menu, knowing he wouldn’t be able to eat anything much heavier. The soup was potato and leek and still a little too heavy but he managed to eat half of it before giving up. The soup sat thick in his stomach and seemed to weigh him down more. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He had one more lecture to attend that day but he knew he wasn’t likely to be conscious during it. So he left the campus and headed to the hospital, hoping to catch a few moments of peace by Auguste’s bedside.

It wouldn’t be the best sleep, but he knew he was likely to sleep better there. Knowing that Auguste was there, still breathing, still clinging to life. Nothing could happen to either of them if he was there.

So he jumped on a bus even though it was only a short half hour walk from the campus. In the past he had walked, but he couldn’t do that at the moment. The trip was only five minutes, still he found his head nodding, his eyes rolling in his head like they were running on a belt of sand.

As uncomfortable as the chair would be, he found himself craving it with every step he took towards the room. He ignore the staff as he made his way through the halls, if he was more conscious he might had noticed the different way they looked at him.

When he rounded the corner to Auguste’s room he found it full of people. He stopped short, confused at this outcome. His eyes scanned over the room taking in the people. There were three nurses that he was familiar with in the room, along with a doctor he had seen a few times. He narrowed his eyes on the last person the room and felt the soup he had eaten rise in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. He clutched the strap of his shoulder bag tightly like it was the only thing between him and the man he hated most in the world.

“Oh Laurent,” his uncle said, moving across the room. “I didn’t want you to have to see this.” His Uncle rested his hands on his shoulders looking every bit the concerned relative. The genuine look of concern on his face could have fooled anyone.

“Don’t touch me,” he said pulling away. “What are you doing here?”

His uncle made a show of looking at Auguste mournfully before turning back. “Don’t you think he’s suffered enough. It’s been a long time, it’s time to let him go.”

He spoke so softly, his voice thick and cracking as he finished speaking. There was even a sheen to his eyes that suggested tears, but just for a second, for a brief flash, there was a smirk, and that was when Laurent lost himself.

He shoved his uncle aside, hard, but not hard enough to warrant the way he hit the ground, or the cry he let out as he did. Hands grab at him as he tried to make his way to Auguste’s bed. He didn’t know what he would do once he reached the bed, but he needed to reach him. Thrashing his arms against those that held him, he felt his elbow connect with flesh and for a brief second he was free.

Then more hands grabbed him, pulling him back, trying to force him out of the room. He gripped the door frame, his nails scraping against the plaster and bending, breaking.

The hands holding him never managed to pull him from the room, so he saw it all. He watched as his uncle rose from the ground, his face showing a sombre expression. He watched as he made his way over to the doctor, nodding slightly and then lowering his head and clasping his hands as if in prayer.

He saw it all, as the doctor turned off the machines and pulled the tube from Auguste’s throat. He could see the final time his brother's chest rose and fell and then went still. Then the screaming started. It started with the screaming of the machines, indicating a flat line.

The rest of the screaming was coming from his own mouth, nonsensical words. A mash of swearing and pleading. He couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of his mouth, threatening them all, swearing he was going to break his uncles neck. His uncle remain silent beside the bed, shaking his head softly.

When he let go of the wall, bloody marks smearing its surface, it was with a flail. He wound his arms around and made contact with those holding him. He was free and in seconds he was across the room, his bloody fingers curling around his uncles neck.

The rage burned through his aching body, giving him the strength to squeeze. He watch as that hateful face turned red and his eyes bulged, but there it was that tiny smirk it was still there. I’ve won again it said.

His hands were torn away and he was thrown to the ground, a heavy weight pressing against him. He struggled against the force, his uncle hover above him, his hands touching his throat. When he felt the pull of his pants being pushed down he started to struggle even harder as fear was added to his anger.

His uncle left the room crowded by a slue of concerned nurses. He screamed after him, continuing to fight as a needle was pushed into his exposed flesh. His voice went silent, and his hands limply fell, but his mind was still screaming as the world faded away.

***

Waking was hard, his limbs were heavy, jerking occasionally against his will. The weight on his eyes were back, but stronger, more painful. He could feel pain radiating from his fingers as they twitched. Trying to swallow, his tongue dragged agains the roof of his mouth, the movement sending a shock of pain that travelled down his throat.

He was confused when he finally managed to blink his eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, and it was bright. It hurt so he closed his eyes and rolled to his side, thinking for a moment that he should just go back to sleep.

Then he remembered and shot up, his head swaying. He tried to focus and move his limbs, he stumbled and fell, his body falling onto a carpeted floor.

“Easy, easy hun,” he heard someone saying. “Just take it easy.”

He wanted to rebel, but his vision would not let him. Everything swam in from of him and along with the pain radiating through his body it was impossible to move.

Someone pushed a cup of water into his hand, thankfully with a straw. He managed to take small sips and in time his vision stopped swaying.

He could see that he was still in the hospital, but he wasn’t in a bed, he was in a make shift pallet shoved behind the nursing station. Trying his hardest he managed to focus on the cup in his hands, he could see bandages around the tips of his fingers. He remembered scratching at the walls, his fingernails bending and tearing.

“Sorry about the arrangement,” the nurse said, taking the empty cup from his hand, “But there are no free beds, and we didn’t want you to have to lay on a stretcher in some hallway.”

“Auguste?” he managed to croak out.

He recognised the nurse from the other night, and briefly wondered how long she had been working. Then his mind went back to Auguste.

“I want to see him.”

There was silence, and Laurent could focus enough to see the way she exchanged a look with the other nurses.

“I’m sorry, but he’s already gone.”

“I know he’s fucking dead,” Laurent said, his voice scratching and hoarse. “I want to see his body.”

They shared a look again. “He’s already gone to the crematorium. You’re uncle arranged it. He was to be cremated and his ashes scattered.”

“No,” Laurent said, the sick feeling rising again. “He should be with our parents. He should be buried with them.”

“I’m sorry, it’s too late. It’s already been done.”

The full affects of what his uncle had done reached him as he stumbled and grabbed for the small bin hidden underneath the nurses station. He retched into the bin, thin streams of yellow bile sticking to his tongue and dripping slowly, slowly down.

His hadn’t just taken his brother from him, but he had taken away any place of morning. He should have been buried with their parents. There was a plot for him, he knew there was a plot for Auguste next to his parents. But now he was gone, his body burned and tossed away. His Uncle probably throwing him into the closest bin.

He continued to heave into the bin, there were nothing to bring up, but his body still contracted. His stomach clenched and his throat burned as he thought about it. There was no where to go.

***

The sun had already set when he stumbled out of the hospital. It felt like days had passed by him, but it was still the same day. He walked aimlessly, not knowing where to go. He didn’t want to go back to his studio apartment.

It was a hollow place, nothing but a large room with a sink at one end and a toilet at the other, a mattress crammed somewhere in the middle. Whenever he felt lost, he would go and sit with Auguste, but Auguste was gone. So he started to walk in the direction of his apartment, hoping that by the time he reached it, he would be able to focus more, that the place wouldn’t depress him quite so much.

What he really wanted to do was swim, he wanted to let himself fall into the water and sink to the bottom. He imagined that he would come to life in the water. He would sprout and life would enter him, he would rise to the surface and take in a breath and feel free. Then he would fall into his stroke, the water blocking out the world. There would be nothing but the water and himself.

The centre was in the same direction as his house, he would even pass it on his way home. Despite having nothing to swim in, he made it his goal. It was late, but he could make it before the place shut.

When he arrived the place was empty. There was a man behind the counter that barely managed to pull himself away from his phone long enough to scan him in. Laurent pushed himself through the gate and made his way towards the water.

He paused briefly at a bench to drop his bag and take off his shoes. He didn’t take anything else off, not even the heavy winter coat he had put on that morning in an effort to fight of the cold. It was still autumn, Laurent felt as if he was in the middle of an unforgiving winter.

The centre was heated, as was the water, but Laurent still shivered as his feet splashed in the puddles around the pool. There was still no one around as Laurent climbing onto the diving block. The water was moving, even with no one in it.

He straightened, flexing his shoulders. His stroke was the back stroke, his starts were in the water. He hadn’t had occasion to do a proper dive in years. Not since he was told that back stroke was his stroke, that he did the push and pull naturally, that with coaching he could improve. Today he wanted to dive, and drive himself deep into the water.

He poses himself with long forgotten movements, he went to dive, and then stopped. Straightening up, he held his arms at his side, closed his eyes, and fell into the water.

The water slapped into his face with an instant sting. His breath rushed out of his mouth as his clothes greedily absorbed the water. He was heavy, the clothes weighing him down, he sunk quickly and he felt peace as the silence surrounded him.

He didn’t open his eyes, even as he felt himself sink further into the water. Opening his mouth, he pushed out the remaining air in his lungs, his body sinking further. He turned in the water, facing upwards.

When his back hit the bottom of the pool he opened his eyes. The world was blurred around him, but he could still make out the ceiling above him. He could still see the lights he use to count even as the movement of the water distorted everything he saw.

He forced the last remnant of air from his lungs, watching the tiny bubbles of his last breath rise. When the bubbles popped to the surface, he closed his eyes, and focused on the silence.

***

He woke with a hard wet slap to his face and his eyes snapped open, the world a blur of fluorescent lights. His lungs strained and burned, a pressure weighting on them. Trying to breath, his chest hitched and water bubbled from his mouth and burned his nose. It slipped over his lips and trickled down the side of his face.

His body jerked up, his lungs twitching again and more water flowed out of his mouth. At last he could breath and the air stuck in his throat choking him again. The air burned as he sucked in large breaths. He could still feel the water as it ran from his nose, it was warm and the feeling disturbing.

His arms and legs twitched and as his vision finally started to clear. His hearing was blocked however, his ear canals still filled with water. There was a pressure against his cheek and a person hovering over him. He realised the pressure was a hand and the person above him was Damen.

Of course it was Damen, hovering over him. His hair normally in loose curls was now wet and sticking to his face. His eyes were desperate, searching, looking for Laurent. Their eyes met, and when they did he closed his eyes in relief, that much he could tell.

With weak movements, he raised his arm and rested his hand against Damen’s cheek. His fingers brushed briefly against the wet strains. Damen leaned into his hand, his eyes still closed. Laurent wanted to keep his hand there, how dearly he wanted to keep his hand there, but he was too weak. His arm flopped back down to his side with a wet slap.

Turning his head with a grimace the water flowed from his ears and sound returned to him.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Damen asked. He sounded out of breath and Laurent figured it was more from panic than from diving into the pool.

Unable to answer just yet, Laurent tried instead to piece together what had just happened. He had let himself fall into the pool, let himself sink. He hadn’t meant to, but he had spent too long under the surface. He let himself drown. Damen had obviously dived in and dragged him out.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Laurent said, his voice coming out as a ruined croak. His throat burned as he spoke and he wondered if he would ever speak normally again. “Don’t speak, just help me up.”

Damen did, his mouth pressing into a stern line before he stood and dragged Laurent to his feet.

***

Laurent still wasn’t quite put together when he walked through the doorway of Damen’s house. Damen had wanted to take him to the hospital, Laurent refused, but also denied going back to his apartment. In the end Damen had bundled him into his car surrounded by towels and blankets, and driven him to his house.

It was only the second time he had been in Damen’s house. This first time the night before flying to the qualifiers. The place held good memories and Laurent was glad he was there. That night was the last time he had felt warm. Damen’s house was warm.

Damen owned a modest two bedroom house and despite Damen being the only resident, it had a home like feeling. It was unlike Laurent’s unit which was minimalistic and studiously clean. Damen’s house showed signs of life. It was a little messy, the coffee table cluttered with books and newspapers. His shoes were in a pile by the door and he knew that his bathroom would be littered with scattered clothes.

The house wasn’t dirty though, it was just lived in. They were signs that a life was lived there, that Damen felt at ease there. It hurt a little that he didn’t have such easy instances in his life. Before he lived in the studio, he lived with his uncle. In his uncles house he was constantly on edge and there was never a moment to relax.

Before that he lived with his parents. Whist loving, they were strict and demanded a certain image. From a young age Laurent had learned that everything had it’s place and there was no excuse for anything not to be in it’s place. There was no room for sentimental items or clutter. Damen’s house showed a level of freedom that Laurent didn’t think he could ever achieve.

“Go have a shower,” Damen said, throwing his keys onto the nearest clear surface. “I’ll get you a towel and something to wear.”

Laurent didn’t argue and made his way to the bathroom. As he had predicted, it was covered in scattered clothing. He let the mass of towels and blankets surrounding him drop to the floor with a wet thwack. The cold surrounded him instead, his hands shaking harder.

He turned the hot water on in the shower and let his hand hover under the spray, waiting for the water to warm. The water stung as it hit his numb fingers, the sensation spreading though his hand.

The door was open, but Damen still rapped against the frame lightly to grab Laurent’s attention. He stepped in and placed a set of clothes on the counter along with a towel.

“Do you want some tea?”

Tea sounded good so Laurent nodded, “Proper tea though, nothing herbal.” He could still taste the herbal tea he had drank just last night. The last night he had spent with Auguste.

He thought that he would feel sick at the thought, but instead he just felt tired. His whole body felt heavy, and it wasn’t just because of the wet clothing. He felt drained, like every emotional and physical feeling had been sapped from his body.

Damen left with a nod and pulled the door shut behind him. When he was gone, Laurent peeled the wet clothing from his skin. He let it fall to the floor, goosebumps spreading quickly over his skin. Not waiting, he stepped into the steaming water which stung as it hit his icy skin.

The water hurt, as did the feel of his own hands as he rubbed his body, trying to find warmth. The shaking calmed after time and he grabbed Damen’s body wash, squirting some into his hands. He rubbed under his arms and between his legs and then washed off quickly.

Once he was done with all the necessities, he let him self enjoy the feel of the water. The water pressure was strong, hot, pressing into his skin like a massage. It was nothing like the slow trickle of lukewarm water that spluttered from his own shower. Even the showers at the centre weren't as strong or as hot.

He could have fallen asleep there, curled under the water. The water usually calmed him, let him forget. But in Damen’s shower, he felt his eyes start to burn and he knew that he was crying. He couldn’t feel the tears as they slipped out from under his eyes lids, but he knew they were falling none the less. He pressed his face closer to the shower head and tried to flush the tears from his eyes.

“You alright in there?” Damen yelled through the door.

He startled at the the intrusion, wanting to tell Damen off, but he supposed he couldn’t blame him after want had just happened. “I’ll be right out,” he yelled, hoping Damen couldn’t hear the tears in his voice. He took a moment to calm himself and make sure the tears had stopped before shutting off the water.

The moment he did he was cold again, a draft seeming to find him no matter where he went. He dried off as quickly as possible before shuffling into the provided clothes. They were too big, but shockingly warm. The track pants were soft, fluffy even, but fell down to his ankles if he didn’t tie them up.

The provided hoody was also too big, but like the track pants, the material was soft against his skin and was a comfort. Even zipped up, the neck line fell down to his mid chest. His hands were engulfed in the long sleeves and in stead of pushing them up he rolled his hands around the material, enclosing his hands. Warmth started to spread through his body and it was such a welcome feeling that he felt his eyes start to sting with tears all over again.

***

He found Damen in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a large mug and starring into space. He didn’t notice at first when Laurent entered the room and he jolted slightly when he caught sight of him. Saying nothing, he set his mug down and picked up another, handing it over to Laurent.

It was plain black English Breakfast tea, and after taking a tentative sip of the still hot liquid, Laurent found it was loaded with sugar, just like he liked. He remembered a time when Damen use to tease and disapprove of his sugar use in hot beverages. The fact that the tea had exactly the amount of sugar that he liked meant too much for him at that moment.

“Care to tell me what happened back there?” Damen asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

“Not particularly,” Laurent said, sipping his tea.

What had happened? he asked himself. He didn’t mean to almost drown himself, he just wanted to be in the water. He wanted the water to fill his ears and block out the world. He wanted to feel the light feeling of his too heavy body floating.

“It’s not what you think.” he said, putting the mug down and trailing his fingers around the edge of the mug.

“What do I think it is?”

Laurent didn’t answer, letting his eyes trail around the house, his gaze focusing on the small table in the kitchen. “Fond memories?” Laurent said nodding towards the table.

Damen smiled, looking down into his mug almost shyly. “The best memories.”

“It wasn’t much.”

“It was enough,” Damen said, setting his own mug down.

“And now?”

“That’s up to you, it always was.”

It was the second time he was in Damen’s house. The first time was different, lighter, there were on a high. Laurent had fought his way to the Olympic qualifiers, Damen by his side. Through the six month journey, something else had grown between them. They were working towards something other than a gold medal.

They were giddy when they had stepped into the house, the coming early morning flight taking them towards their futures. Both of them had been charged with adrenaline, combined with the growing connection between them it was no wonder they had ended up as they did.

Laurent had wanted Damen to fuck him. Damen said he would after he made it onto the Olympic team. He said it like it was bound to happen, like there was no question. There should have been no question, Laurent’s times had rivalled some of the best. Instead Damen had kissed him, pressing him against the table.

Laurent didn’t know what to expect at the time, all he knew is that he wanted Damen to touch him. And Damen had, slowly, tenderly, like he was a piece of art to be marvelled and enjoyed. His back pressed against the table, Damen had knelt to the floor and with is mouth alone showed Laurent things he didn’t think possible.

Sex had never been something for him to enjoy in his experience. He didn’t know it was to be enjoyed on both ends. He knew that he wanted Damen to touch him, he knew that he would enjoy the touch alone. He wanted Damen to fuck him because he wanted Damen closer, he wanted Damen to enjoy himself. He knew that Damen had wanted to the moment they met.

What he didn’t know was what Damen would offer to him. He didn’t know that he could feel such pleasure. He hadn’t expected Damen to lean him over the table, kiss his neck, his collarbone, his chest. He kissed every part of him like it was gift and then showed him that sex could be something other than pain and someone else’s pleasure.

Then it all fell apart, he failed, he destroyed himself. He should have known. He gave up, he dropped Damen as his coach, and cut off whatever they could have been.

Sometimes he wondered if they hadn’t had that night together if things would have been the same. If he hadn’t felt so good the night before, would he have aced the qualifiers? Would things between them be different? If he hadn’t self destructed, would he be happier? Would he have enough money sooner? Enough to stop his Uncle, to keep Auguste alive?

Auguste was dead. Gone, burned to a pile of ash, tossed away in some nameless place.

Laurent picked his mug back up and turned his back on Damen, sipping the slowly cooling tea but tasting nothing. He felt on the urge of tears again, but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not even when he felt his nose clog and his throat starting to burn and constrict.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Damen asked. Laurent nodded, his back still to Damen trying to dive into the mug itself. He stayed still as Damen moved around him, disappearing into other parts of the house.

By the time Damen returned he had finished his tea and felt capable of facing him again.

“I’ve set up the couch.”

“That’s not where I slept last time I was here.” He didn’t know if he was trying to tease Damen or distract himself.

“Things were different then.”

“That they were,” Laurent said. He set his empty mug by the sink and made his way to the living room. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you need anything,” Damen said, following him out from the kitchen. “Just wake me up.”

Laurent nodded as a response, falling onto the couch. He buried himself into the blankets Damen had set up and faced away from Damen, pressing his face into the back of the couch.

There were no words spoken, but he could feel Damen’s gaze on him. He often use to feel Damne’s gaze, he was use to it. But now it felt heavier and all he wanted was for Damen to leave.

He feigned sleep, and even as he did, he could still feel Damen there watching him. He wanted to sleep, he was so tired, too tired. He didn’t want to sleep, sleeping seemed like a luxury that wasn't offered to him. He began to drift off anyway, until he felt a gentle hand brush against his head, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Making sure to keep his breaths steady, Laurent kept his ears trained. He heard the way that Damen sighed and shuffled behind him before walking away. The room felt different without him, wrong, empty.

Drifting off to sleep, he felt cold.

***

The shivering woke him. It was violent, the way that his limbs contracted and shook his whole body. He could feel the weight of the blankets piled on top of him. His hands clutched at the blankets, pulling them closer, but still he was cold.

Rolling from the couch, he pulled the blankets close around him and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled at first, his mind still thick with sleep and his eyes heavy. The unfamiliar surroundings and the dark didn’t help as he stumbled his way through the house. His shoulder hit a door frame and he fell to the floor in the pile of blankets.

The shock was enough to wake him up properly. He had started moving with no meaning, his destination unknown at the time. It wasn’t until he heard the slow rumble of Damen snoring in his sleep that he knew where he was going. Picking himself up from the floor, he pulled the sheets back up around his shoulders and made his way towards Damen’s room.

Damen didn’t wake when he nudged open his ajar door. Laurent stood in the door way, watching his chest rise and fall with deep heavy breaths. It was natural, Laurent noticed, nothing like the way Auguste’s chest use to rise and fall. There was no jerk, no pause when the machine stopped for just that one second.

He breathed, and murmured and moved in his sleep. He was alive, fully and completely alive.

Moving towards the bed, Laurent pulled the blankets from his shoulders and threw them over the bed, covering Damen. Then he lifted them up and crawled underneath, pressing himself to Damen’s side.

Damen woke with a snort that Laurent would have teased him about in another time.

“Laurent?” Damen slurred, rubbing a thick hand over his face.

“I’m cold,” Laurent said, pressing closer.

Damen rolled to his side, and wrapped his arm around Laurent’s waist pressing their chests together. He only let go for a moment to run his hand through Laurent’s hair for a moment before wrapping him close again.

“Are you going to be okay?” Damen asked, his voice still a rumble thick with sleep.

Laurent didn’t know. “Not right now,” he breathed.

He pressed his face to Damen’s chest and let the tears out. He refused to let a sound leave his mouth, but he let the tears come, soaking Damens shirt. His body shuddered and but still no sound escaped.

Damen held him close, stroking his hair sometimes, whispering in his ear. They were words he couldn’t hear, but still they comforted him that small amount. He was lost, empty, yet full. There was everything raging through his mind yet everything was turned off at the same time.

He didn’t know what he was suppose to feel. But physically he could feel Damen’s arm around his waist, his hand in his hair. He could feel Damen’s breath as he talked, and the way it moved his hair in breaths, brushing his ear.

“My brother died last night,” he whispered.

Damen pulled him tighter, both arms circling him. He shouldn’t have felt anything, but he felt warm.

  
***

Damen made him breakfast, if a piece of toast with butter and avocado could be called breakfast. But he ate it, slowly with tiny bites. He had to stop a few times, his stomach quivering, but he finished it. It was followed by a strange sense of accomplishment.

Damen wanted him to drink tea, Laurent demanded coffee and after a brief staring contest Damen gave in and made him coffee. He made sure to let out a loud sigh and roll his eyes as he stirred in three heaped spoonfuls of sugar into the black drink. Handing it over he leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Laurent cradle the mug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damen asked.

Laurent sipped at his coffee, wondering if he did want to talk about it. He knew talking about it would help, would let him voice emotions that were rattling around his head. But if he were to tell Damen what happened he would have to go back to the beginning.

He would have to tell Damen about loosing his parents, about Auguste’s accident and subsequent stay in the hospital. He wouldn’t be able to avoid telling Damen about going to live with his uncle, and what happened to him there. Every emotion he had felt over the years would come pouring out and that wasn’t something he was ready for.

“In time, there is a lot to talk about.”

“The longer you wait, the harder it is to talk about,” Damen said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t have to be me, just promise me you’ll talk to someone.”

But there was no one left to talk to. There was no one else, if he was going to talk to anyone, it would have to be Damen.

“I’ll tell you one day.”

Because once they could have been something, and maybe one day they still could be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Eating disorder and suicide attempt.
> 
>  
> 
> Wow you made it to the end of this crap! Thanks!
> 
> I tried a couple of different endings but in the end it's still left rather open.
> 
> About half way through this thing I realised I could easily make a follow up for it, so maybe in time that will happen.
> 
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think whether it's good or bad. Point out things I knew to improve or common mistakes I make. I want to learn!


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